Dollface: The Melancholy of Magic
by Broth O' Ramen
Summary: Magic exists: its supernatural forces are considered normal. In fact, mana flows as freely as the wind, allowing those to control it-called mages- and incur spells, charms, and anything that allows mana to take a form of a physical element. In this, there exists 6 pre-dominant elements of magic- earth, water, wind, fire, light, and dark-and this story tells of the conflict of two.


Chapter 1: Just a Normal Day

'' _Mali_... _wanag_ …'' The slow chant exits his mouth like a soft echo, and a small sphere of light produces in the middle of his hands…

The cavern of his mind becomes more light.

'' _Mali_ … _wanag_ ,'' His soft voice evolves to a more stern tone, yet the light still retains its minuscule shape.

His body becomes heavy, making his hands shake with fatigue.

'' _Maliwanag_!'' Its stern tone transforms to a harsh command, shrinking the ball of light to a white pea.

His hands shook fiercely, his concentration diminished, and finally his body snaps back, releasing Simon's hands from the grasp of the holy pea, evaporating its figure, returning to the mana. Simon's hands then land lazily onto the small mattress of his bed, and then his back gives in to the weight, slumping away from the cold metal bed frame. His dirty blond hair matted to his forehead with sweat.

 _Dammit_ , Simon thought to himself, _Must God give the determined greater tasks?_ Small beads of sweat began to drop down to the thin mattress of his bed.

 _For something being called the Great Shine spell, I can only create something so small..._ Simon clenched his teeth, upset at himself from the dismal result of his spell. His mind then recalled to the various attempts he did at mastering the various basic light spells at the church school. Of course, all the attempts have failed at even the supposed cantrips of light magic, and his mind then mostly-and unfortunately-recalled to his fellow classmates snickering behind his back, which only served to feed his stress.

Simon's stress then resorted to fatigue, as his back slumps heavily into the mattress, with his jaw loosened from the clench, and his head dove into the soft, fluffy pillow. The lovely white noise of owls hooting and crickets chirping protrude from the aged wooden window frame of the orphanage, lulling Simon's body to a deep slumber. Yet, his mind still craves for the night.

Simon's conscious began wandering into the deep dark cavern of his mind, aimlessly searching for something, yet knowing nothing of its quest. He then bumps into a large wall in front of him, stopping him in his tracks: Simon couldn't see it, as the darkness masked its presence.

 _No… No… Please, not this again..._

Then, as Simon began to stretch his arms, he feels two cold slates between him, only arms length away: it was a smooth yet cold texture, icy in its surface. Simon then stretches his hands behind him, feeling the cold sensation of a wall between his fingertips. His mind raced, as the dark small cubicle filled his conscious with paranoia; and then, his slow breathes hastens to pants desperately grasping for air.

 _How do I get out…? It's so cold… so cold… I can't see a thing… Where is everyone? Where's Father Henry!?_

Finally, Simon desperately began to bang the walls before him, becoming louder and harder for every pant he took. His mind accelerated to a flurry of thoughts. His conscious absorbed more paranoia for every hit absorbed into the walls. Simon was frightened.

 _Let me out! Let me out! LET ME OUT!_

Then, as Simon jerks his head to the dark ceiling above him, a small hatch opens before him, beckoning a large ray of light. A voice then calls to him, yet he couldn't understand its dialect. Simon then stretches his arm to the light, and felt something hefty and solid across his fingertips. As he grasped it firmly with his hand, the appendage then grabbed his arm-its hand was firm with its grasp-pulling him away from the cubicle, flashing a large white light. Simon squinted his eyes shut, hoping to not blind himself.

Dawn commenced, as it serenades itself with the bustling noise of the other children- from shrieks to cheering-and creaking from the metal bed frames, orchestrating the great hue of shining orange. Finally, Simon's eyelids snap open, with his mind contorting back to reality, relieved to have escaped the cold abyss of his mind once more. As he bounces off from his humble bed and lands on the wooden floor, Simon begins to stretch his shoulders and arms-still stressed from last night-and then goes to ruffle his crisped hair back into its soft and straight nature. Despite sleeping at the crack of night, Simon still feels exhausted, as he conflicts with his eyelids from drooping shut. However, his mind became fully in tuned, as the heavy waft of bacon grease and eggs crawled from downstairs. Before he had the chance to get to the stairs, the small pony-tailed girl-Rita- energetically capered to the tiny flight, and hopped step by step to the kitchen. Then came Gabriel, whose jovial eyes was still alluring as the amount of freckles on his face, who jumped into the portal that is the stairs, luckily uninjured from his reckless stunt. Next came the twins, Sam and Pam, who hand in hand, walked down to each step in unison.

 _Man, everyday these children seem to be more energetic than I am… Let's hope it matches their passion for magical prowess._

As Simon was about to take his first step, he couldn't forget one more family member, as he rushed to the humble wooden cradle where the tiny bundle of joy, Nicholas, slept. As the beady little eyes began to open from the peaceful slumber, and as his little mouth yawned, Simon then carefully cradled the tiny boy into his arms, and slowly yet surely went down the flight of stairs, and headed to the humble kitchen. As he arrived, he was greeted by the clanging and banging of utensils from the other four children,clashing them in unison like the marching of soldiers, and of course a jovial ''Good Morning!'' from them, high-pitched and almost rehearsed. Unfortunately, this greeting was enough to overwhelm the youngest of the bunch, and Nicholas began to tear up and bawl from the stir of noise. Startled by this, Simon-the oldest of the bunch- began to bounce the little one in his arms, but still wasn't enough to calm him down. Then behind the scene, a grand usher flowed through the helix of Simon's ear, and a chant concurred.

'' _Makintab Na Sprites_ ,'' and whizzing around the modest kitchen, shiny silhouettes of fairies danced around, gracefully waving their arms and legs, gently floating in the thin air of the humble abode. Soon enough, everyone was entranced by the whisking of alluring sprites in the air, including Nicholas, who luckily stopped his crying, and finally exposed his toothless grin and gurgled noises of joy and laughter. Recognizing this spell, Simon craned his head to his right shoulder, and by the corner of his eyes, sees the man of the house: Father Henry.

Even as a priest in his late-fifties, his stoic composure ushered authority and attention to the children. His face has a few wrinkles, yet it aged finely from wisdom and compassion for the Lord. His light gray hair flared around his face like the mane of a lion, with his imperial beard pointed towards the ground, complementing the black clergy uniform he always wore. And of course, he never forgets the little charm needed for every practitioner of the church: a sterling silver cross necklace, whose shine exhumes like a badge of earnest privilege. Always happy to see his presence, Simon gleefully greeted Father Henry for the morning, and Father Simon patted his left shoulder, and shone a slight grin to Simon as a sign of approval. Afterwards, as he entered the kitchen, Father Henry then whisked his hand in the air, which in turn whisked the fairies from the air, fading them away, evaporating into thin air. After the performance, all the children began to circle around him, hopping and coddling around his waist, urging for another performance. Sister Mary, the priestess of the orphanage-and the one cooking breakfast-laid the used pots and pans in the sink, dimpled her cheeks and slightly exhaled when witnessing such love for Father Henry.

 _Man, even though this may be the 56th time he's done this, this kids still love it,_ Simon thought to himself, _And to think it was a spell of his own creation… I hope I'll become a priest as great as him..._

As Simon carefully placed little baby Nicholas in the humble wooden booster seat and sat beside him at the kitchen table, he witnesses the feast laid before everyone at the table: large plates piled well with thick cuts of bacon simmering in its juices, slices of crispy toasted wheat bread, a few assorted jams and jellies to complement the toast, eggs sunny side up with its yolks glimmering like the sun, and a small bowl of porridge for baby Nicholas. As Simon then placed the small bowl in front of Nicholas, he then held hands with Gabriel and Sister Mary, as everyone at the dinner table clasped their hands together to say grace.

As they all bowed before the table-with Nicholas merely closing his eyes at queue-Father Henry then spoke a prayer, one that is meant to bless everyone before him-the children, the orphanage, the food, and the humble life itself-something that sounded as powerful as a spell, and one spoken as a spell…

Finally, as the prayer ended, Father Henry then chanted another spell.

'' _Marangal Na Pagpapala_ ,'' he chanted, as a soft glow of white light surrounded the food-everything but the porridge for Nicholas-then it slowly fades away, yet its presence remains strong. As everyone stared at the food, they then looked at Father Henry for conformity.

'' _Grand Blessing_ ,'' Father Henry remarked, ''It is a spell meant to literally bless anything before me. As for the food, the spell makes the food more nutritious, and of course, more delicious. Luckily, the Church has allowed me to use this new spell. So, let us be the first to taste the new spell.''

Both the children and Sister Mary were at awe from the spell, and did not hesitate to feast on this ''new'' breakfast. In fact, they were quite gleeful, as they enjoyed every bit of the feast they had. However, as Simon began to take a bite on a piece of bacon, his face lit up, unfortunately for the wrong reasons. As soon as the strip entered his mouth, he instantly experienced a sharp taste of bitter, spicy, sour, and a hint of sweet. The texture of the bacon wasn't crispy neither enjoyably chewy from its fat, but hard and tough as rubber. The aftertaste was even worse, with the grease coating his tongue in a thick and rancid flavor, and an insatiable sensation ran through his mouth and spine. It was utterly disgusting.

Unfortunately, Simon did not hide his expressions well, as both the children and the two priests looked at him with shock and worry.


End file.
